Roar
by Mellifluous Violet
Summary: It drove me mad to wonder what sorts of conversations Ron and Hermione had following the group's escape from Malfoy Manor. My take on how Ron helped Hermione in the days at Shell Cottage. I know, I know - it's been done before, but here's my take. Following the books, but snippets of film interlaced.
1. Chapter 1

_"'And I think,' said Bellatrix's voice, 'we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.'" (DH, pg 382, UK edition)_

With a dull thud, Ron's knees slammed onto the cold, soft sand. The familiar claustrophobic feeling of apparition had turned his insides more than ever. He took just a moment to close his eyes and pray that he hadn't been splinched, or…her. _Especially_ her. He was afraid to look at her, to see what state she was in. Anxiety roared about him, carrying the horrors and chaos from the previous setting to the peaceful, sandy beach.

The sky was cloudless – a dull, misty white that sharply contrasted the dark green dunes. The realization that he'd somehow landed them in the right place was enough to release a loud breath of relief, but the lump his in throat grew as he feared whatever revelations might come. Did they all make it? Would she open her eyes? Did Greyback possibly get to her before they were able to? With that thought, he let out a low cry, roaring with red-hot anger at what could have been had they been a millisecond too late.

 _Was Bill even home?_ God, but that didn't matter. Nothing did but _her_. He choked back a sob as he crawled closer to the body a few feet in front of him.

Trying not to work himself into a panic, he wiped his snotty mess of a face with the back of his ragged shirt, eyes almost teary as he squinted through the natural light and strong, salty breeze. Little torrents of wind made hissing noises that blew about Ron's ears, combined with the roaring tide – the sound instantly reminding him of the horrible guilt he felt while staying with Bill and Fleur not too long ago. The tangible grief of loneliness and isolation from being apart from his truest friends hit him in the chest.

 _Hermione._ Oh, gods. She looked like a ragdoll, her body splayed before him like one of Ginny's old playthings he used to step over at the Burrow as a child. Her hair was wildly strewn about, and her pretty face – gods, the face he adored so much it hurt – was deathly pale. Her neck was still bleeding, but the cut wasn't deep. Was she also wet? Ron couldn't imagine how she could have gotten misted from the sea when they were still quite far from the shore, till he realized it was a sheen of sweat that covered her face. He leaned his head down close to her chest, desperate to hear her breathing. Her lips were parted, and Ron nearly punched the ground with frustration as he realized how insanely unqualified he was to offer any sort of help to her, should her petite body require resuscitation.

His shaking arms rushed out, scooping her up under the armpits and carrying her like one would a sleeping toddler. How light she was! Ron's arms circled her back as he held her to him, his large left hand resting just below her hip as his forearm supported her weight and his other arm clasped tightly around her upper back. Hermione's head flopped to his neck, her hair blowing up in the breeze to swirl around Ron's jaw. Her arms didn't go around his neck like he'd hoped but instead hung against his chest, and he stood so fast from his position in the sand he nearly toppled over. His trainers dragged heavier through the sand than he'd expected, but he tensed and focused harder on walking straight towards the house.

"Be careful, you _idiot_. You'll hurt her more!" He murmured under his breath as he narrowly avoided tripping again. Even as he was walking as fast as his legs could carry him, he listened for her breathing. While he didn't hear anything, he felt the flight rise and fall of her chest.

 _Why does she feel so_ light _? Had she lost_ that _much weight this past year?_ He decided to speak softly in her ear as he continued walking briskly towards Shell Cottage.

"'Mione? Can you wake for me…please? I've got you, I've got you, love. Can I hear your pretty voice, Hermione?" he croaked, hoping beyond reason that she would stir in his arms and wrap her legs tight around his waist. He felt like he was going to break her, she was so light. Her head, however, felt heavy against his neck, which made him begin to feel nauseous.

She didn't lift her head, but he swore he heard a light whimper. His heart did a summersault.

"Almost there, I've got you. Can you talk, please? Can you tell me how you feel, 'Mione?" He whispered, quickening his pace but also glancing down to make sure he was talking right at her ear. Immediately, he heard that same whimper as before, but she held it out a second longer. It turned to a groan as Ron shifted her slightly in his arms, reaching to knock loudly on the sturdy front door.

While he was trying to pull his head back enough to get a glimpse of her face, Fleur's ghastly pale face suddenly appeared as she wrenched open the door. The next few moments felt like a blur to Ron. He pushed past her, demanding Bill come at once. It was shocking to walk into the rustic old cottage, with its worn wood and cozy furniture in comparison to where he'd stood moments before. If being held captive and tortured wasn't enough, even the horrific, suffocating, damp atmosphere of Malfoy Manor was enough to flip Ron's stomach. With a shudder, the memory of that goddamn chandelier crashing filled his mind.

"Bill! I _need_ you!" his voice broke, a sob choking him as he squeezed Hermione a bit tighter to him. Fleur remained speechless, but came closer to examine Hermione's face from behind Ron's back. " _Bill!_ " he roared, growing more desperate. Fleur began muttering in French and her eyes widened as she took in the others still on the beach behind Ron.

Sick of waiting, Ron charged up the steps and fumbled with the familiar doorknob to the first room on the left. He kicked open the door, bile rising in his throat as he considered what to do next. This was where he'd stayed last time. It was a dark blue wallpapered guest room with a steep slanting wall on the right side, simply decorated unlike the other girly one down the hall that Fleur had clearly designed, which reminded him too much of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.

Ron gingerly laid Hermione down on the bed, trepidation clouding his mind as he realized he hadn't a clue what to do next. He sunk to his knees, eyes frantically scanning her body for anything, _anything_ he could fix. He settled on untying her trainers, slipping them off her feet and letting them clamor to the floor.

"'Mione, please, I need you to wake up. You hear me? I need you, _please_ , to wake up," he choked, his hands desperately tugging his hair. Again, there was that awful whimper – so unlike any noise Hermione ever made. Ron's hand reflexively went to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft space under her right eye.

She remained flat on her back, unmoving, eyes still shut but her mouth closed. Her fingers were curled, and absolutely filthy. Blood was smattered on her face and clothes, but he hadn't a clue whose it might be – perhaps a mixture of hers and Griphook's, and anyone in the general vicinity when the chandelier had fallen. Ron's eyes stung as they filled with tears to see her so… _vulnerable_.

There were sharp cuts and scrapes all over her face and hands – anywhere her adorable sweatshirt and jean jacket wasn't covering. He used his hands to wipe some of the miniscule pieces of broken glass from her jacket, fearing there may be more glass embedded in her skin. Ron secretly loved her style – while probably most would have dismissed Hermione as completely uninterested in what she wore, Ron knew she dressed classically…and loved her for it. She was good at enhancing the beauty of her face and hair. Gods, her _hair_.

"Still beautiful, eh?" he chuckled, smoothing some stray hairs that had stuck to her sweaty forehead. Suddenly, Ron realized there was definitely something he could do! Very carefully, he reached for the precious beaded bag (incredibly impressed that she managed to keep it on her during the entire ordeal) and carried it over to the dresser, which held a porcelain basin. He muttered a quick aguamenti and warmed it with Wormtail's wand. Could he trust this bloody thing and his shaken hand to perform a few spells on Hermione?

" _Accio dittany! Accio flannel_!" When both items easily soared onto the table with the basin, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. Surely it would be fine, right? He carried the items carefully across the room and laid them on the floor next to the bed.

"Don't bugger this up," Ron murmured as he gripped the wand, glancing down at Hermione's lovely face. Another thirty seconds passed when he realized he couldn't do it…he wasn't prepared to have magic harm her anymore today, even if it was accidental.

"Fleur?" He yelled from the doorway, grateful to hear her footsteps quickly getting louder as soon as she'd heard him. She didn't hesitate to walk right up to Hermione, peering down at her as Ron wrung his hands, willing her to help.

"Eez it alright if I just, er…?" Fleur meant it less as a question and more as a warning. His ears turned bright red and he turned around, busying himself with the beaded bag once more and pulling out a change of clothes for himself. He wanted to make sure no glass was stuck to him while he was so close to Hermione.

" _Diffindo! Scourgify! Episkey_!" Ron could hear Fleur casting each spell quietly, taking in the injuries that remained when Hermione's clothes, dirt, and minor cuts were no longer obstructing her view. He was itching to turn around but wasn't sure how exposed Hermione might be. He knew she'd be mortified to wake up nearly starkers in front of people, so he did his best to try and think of what might be in the bag for him to change into and not Hermione in her current state.

"Ron? Don't look yet. Go into my room and get ze dressing gown from –"

"Right!" Ron sprinted down the hall, peering into Bill and Fleur's master bedroom and thanking his lucky stars that a pale pink dressing gown was hanging from a hook on the back of the door and that he wasn't going to have to rifle through his sister-in-law's drawer of – _unmentionables_. He was glad the dressing gown was soft and clean, wishing he knew an incantation to make it even more comfortable. He locked eyes while handing it to Fleur, careful to look at the floor after she took it from his hands. Hermione's tattered clothes lay on the ground, everything besides her socks. He quickly scooped them up and moved to place them in the corner of the room.

He could hear Fleur grunt as she tried to lift Hermione to a setting position, and realized rather quickly that any fantasy he ever had of a seventeen-year-old naked Hermione in the same room as him was ridiculously irrelevant right now. This was a bloody war, and she was still frustratingly unconscious.

"Here, let me hold her up while you do it…" he coaxed gently, motioning for Fleur to move over while he sat on the bed with his back against the headboard and gently supported her head, his hands looking comically large against Hermione's tiny neck and back. Fleur quickly dressed her while Ron worked to secure her hair back with a ribbon he'd accio'd from her bag.

"I'll just go get 'er some water," Fleur's heavy French accent sounded higher than usual, and Ron's eyes darted up to meet hers. She was on the verge of tears, he could tell. "Lay 'Ermione back down and stay with 'er here. Normally, erm, your _mère_ wouldn't want boys and girls to share rooms, but zis is a spécial case." With that, she walked right out of the room and straight into Bill – Ron could hear his brother's worried questions.

He delicately lowered Hermione onto the thin pillow on the other side of him, moving slowly to keep from jostling her. He reached for the flannel, dittany, and water to begin his own regimen, wiping tenderly every injury that he found exposed on her face, neck, arms, and legs. He was so focused on his work that he didn't hear Bill and Fleur enter, carrying water and a bit of food onto a tray. Bill's arms were full of extra blankets, and it wasn't until he dropped one onto the foot of the bed that Ron even noticed them standing so close. For several tense minutes, he knew Bill and Fleur were trying to piece together what may have happened.

"I still can't believe they let students at Hogwarts practice this on one another now," Bill murmured quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping girl. "It won't cause any damage to her physical body, but Ron…we need to know how her mind is," Bill added sternly, his hand briefly resting on Ron's shoulder.

Ron gulped. He couldn't, _wouldn't_ consider that she'd end up like the Longbottoms. Not Hermione's gorgeous, brilliant mind. For some reason, he vividly thought of the first time she brought up S.P.E.W. back in fourth year. _" I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now."_ His fists clenched as tears once again sprang to his eyes, remembering those silly little badges. She has always been so fierce. His heart burned just thinking about it.

"How many times, Ron?" Bill insisted. Their gazes met, and Ron ran his hands over his face, elbows resting heavily on his knees from his perch on the corner of the bed.

"Eleven," he barely uttered while reaching for Hermione's hand, flinching when Bill swore loudly. Her little hand was so soft, and he focused on rubbing his thumb back and forth over her knuckles as Bill and Fleur spoke quickly to one another about which spell they should use to revive the witch.

Ron turned his hips so that he was facing her fully, and trying anything – _anything_ – to block out the screaming that had echoed down to him not so long ago, ringing through his head as the single worst imaginable sound on the face of the earth.

 _"_ _I thought two Sickles to join – that buys a badge – and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You're treasurer, Ron – I've got you a collecting tin upstairs…"_ Oh, her wild and kind ideas, her bossiness, her resolve once her mind was put to something. Ron smiled sweetly down at her, affectionately running his index finder over her face gently and tracing her jaw, nose, perfect lips, and eyelids. He avoided her neck, noticing with deep sadness again the angry red line cut across her light skin.

"Your kindness was paid back today, 'Mione…the creatures you care so much about rescued you, you know…" Ron whispered hoarsely, guilt flooding him that he wasn't the rescuer himself but thanking heaven that she was here. How proud she'd be…she _will_ be…when she finds out that Dobby – oh, _gods._ Dobby. Ron knew he needed to go check on the others, but couldn't bear to remove himself from Hermione's side.

"You're so brave, you know that?" he whispered right into her ear, "Whether or not I was I lousy git or took you seriously, you've always been brave, sweet girl. You need to come back to me now, alright?" he continued stroking her face, not giving a damn if Bill and Fleur probably thought he looked mental.

"Ron – " Bill began, eager to begin rousing Hermione.

"Please, Bill, just be _gentle_. She's so bloody fragile… I mean, if you had seen…" Ron choked on a sob, all the feelings he'd kept down now bubbling up as he tried to convey how terribly _hurt_ her was.

 _"_ _Rennervate!"_ The red light that burst from his wand seemed to crash into Hermione, and a loud, horrid gasp suddenly escaped from her. Ron backed up off the bed, giving her space but keeping his hand intertwined with hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, her forehead wrinkling deeply and legs coming up to her chest as she turned sharply on her side. Deep, whimpering breaths shook her tiny frame. She broke out in sweat again quickly.

"Her-Hermione, it's me, Ron…you're safe here. We are at Shell Cottage, you remember me telling you about Bill's place? By the sea? You're safe, 'Mione…" Ron repeated several times, trying to reassure her panicked mind that no one could touch her.

"Darling, get whatever dreamless sleep potion we still have in the cupboard quickly," Ron heard Bill say to Fleur, grateful to hear the steadiness in his voice. "Hermione, can you open your eyes and look at me? Do you remember me?"

Ron silently begged her to relax – she was so tense. He was afraid to reach out and touch her, but he could just tell that every muscle was being clenched. The worst part was that he couldn't tell if it was from pain or fear.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open and she seemed to soften slightly, her hand linked with Ron's moving. Without warning, she winced loudly, grimacing as she clutched her stomach.

Ron's heart tore in two. "Shhh, I'm so sorry, the pain will go away. Squeeze my hand Hermione, tell me what hurts," Ron asked urgently, wanting more than anything to just trade for her pain.

"W-w-water," she stammered, closing her eyes shut again. Ron jerked towards the glass sitting on the tray beside him, spilling some over the edge in his haste.

"Water, you said? I've got some right here. Can I help you sit up, please?" Ron spoke so quickly he worried she wouldn't understand him. Instead, she warily raised her head, twisting her body so she was leaning towards Ron. One shaky arm grasped his thigh as she pulled herself up partially. He steadied the glass for her, unlacing his fingers from her hand and supporting her head as she drank deeply from the glass in his other hand. His thumb buried in her hair gently rubbed her scalp.

"That's it, love. Great job. Nice and slow, darling, don't drink too fast," Ron murmured as she finished, sighing deeply and laying heavily back down onto the mattress. Ron couldn't resist himself – he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Before he could whisper anything else into her ear, Bill squatted down to speak to her. Ron reached for her hand again, hoping her limp fingers would tighten around his.

"Hermione, can you tell me your full name? And who I am?" Bill's face pinched with concern as she breathed quietly, her eyes closed once again and breathing shallow. A few seconds passed, with both Ron and Bill staring intensely at her. As Ron raised his eyes to try and meet Bill's, he heard her weak reply.

"H-H-Hermione Jean Granger," she said rather quietly, her eyes suddenly snapping open. "You're William Arthur Weasley. Ron's eldest brother," she said with determination. Ron snickered and looked to Bill's reaction at hearing his full name.

"How'd she know that?" Bill asked sheepishly, feigning embarrassment as his face eventually broke into a slight smile.

"She bloody knows everything, I swear it. Maddeningly perfect, she is" Ron gushed, so happy to hear her voice.

"Ron…don't swear…" she muttered weakly.


	2. Chapter 2

Several hours had passed and the coolness of night had fallen over Shell Cottage. When Hermione had woken and eased the Weasley brothers' minds that she hadn't been tortured to insanity, Fleur nearly forced the Dreamless Sleep potion down her throat. Hermione's eyes widened as she choked on the purple potion, sputtering as Fleur tipped back her head and urged her to swallow.

"Easy now!" Ron snapped, forgetting momentarily he was speaking with his brother's wife in their home where he sought refuge…again. Bill's sharp gaze silenced Ron, but Fleur huffed as she stood up with the empty bottle.

"Zis is much better zan waking up in pain, Ronald…you will zee. 'Twas not a full dose, al'zo I wish it were. It iz all we had left. 'Ermione should wake in a few hours time," she said somberly, gathering up all of the healing supplies she had brought in with her.

Hermione curled back into the fetal position, donning several gauze bandages over the worst of her wounds, courtesy of Fleur's quick work. Ron sighed and softly expressed his gratitude to Fleur as she left the room with Bill, hoping she'd be quick to excuse any emotional outbursts from the montage group of unexpected houseguests.

Harry had eventually come by, eyes glazed over as he took in Hermione's sleeping form. Ron trusted Harry to wait with her while he left to go have a bath and change into fresh clothes. When he returned not long after, Harry was sitting at the foot of the bed and absentmindedly rubbing Hermione's blanket-covered shin. He seemed completely out of it, and it wasn't until Ron practically shoved him into the nearest bedroom that he finally surrendered to the darkness and available mattress to fall into a deep sleep. Ollivander had also been in there, not making a peep at all in the other twin bed. Ron wondered if Harry felt creeped out taking a kip in the same room as him, but assumed the last 24 hours' events had provided a necessary desensitization.

Dean and Luna had also come by, proving to be way more talkative than Harry had been but not particularly helpful. Ron watched Luna warily, refusing to allow her to try any of the spells she speculated might help clear Hermione's spirit of bad thoughts. She spoke to Hermione in her sing-songy voice as if she were awake, at one point attempting to rearrange her on the bed, explaining in her dreamy tone that it would keep some sort of magical creature Ron had never even _heard_ of from crawling into her head through her ears. Ron felt whatever little nerves he had left were quickly being used up.

"She had the potion, Luna…she's fine. Let her be," he sighed, exhaustion beginning to numb his thinking. Dean took the hint and suggested Luna come downstairs with him and help spot any nargles before bedtime, mouthing "Loony" to Ron as he shut the door behind them with a smile. Ron shook his head as they left, remarking how very opposite Luna was from the girl laying in bed. The very antithesis of Hermione, who would have likely approached the manner very differently had Luna been the one laying in bed.

Bill and Fleur ensured everyone was offered fried cod with slices of bread and large cups of tea, but saved Hermione a generous portion of vegetable soup in the icebox to be warmed up later. When Ron (who ate anything but didn't care too much for fish) returned his plate to the kitchen, he noticed Bill whisper into Fleur's ear. To Ron's delight, a large bacon sandwich floated into his room. Far behind hearing Hermione's precious voice it had been his favorite thing to happen that day.

After busying himself with tidying the room a bit, he grabbed one of the thick knit blankets Bill had left and laid down on the floor, careful to situate himself where Hermione could see him if she sat up but not close enough to the door that it would smack into him as soon as someone tried to enter.

Then, there was silence. No sound at all. It roared in his head, worse than a cacophony of sounds. Everyone in the house had doubtless found someplace to rest their heads, but Ron felt fidgety. Exhausted as his body was, his mind began a tortuous rewinding of the day. Ron tried humming, counting dragons hatching, even singing a few lines from _Hoggy Warty Hogwarts_ in his head, but nothing did the trick. He cast a quick quieting spell about the room in case he happened to talk too loudly in his sleep and wake the whole house. He worried momentarily if he'd rouse Hermione, but remembered her dreamless sleep that would likely keep her from waking early, even if he was…expressive. Ron knew Hermione occasionally had nightmares, assumed Harry and Hermione knew he sometimes had nightmares, and everyone knew Harry's deal. Poor guy…had to take on You-Know-Who's utterly horrific dreams in addition to his own. Ron sincerely hoped Harry would be properly zonked out for a while with soundless sleep.

After tossing and turning on the floor for what felt like hours, he grumpily resigned himself to insomnia and decided to find something to read. He knew Hermione had packed an exorbitant number of books in that bag of hers, despite the Tales of Beedle the Bard being her number one choice these days. He pulled out _Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms_ and scowled, wanting to bore himself to sleep but not miserably so. He settled for the classic _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ Discovering that it was impossible to read laying down on his stomach or flat on his back for very long, Ron crawled towards the bed with the book and his nest of blanket and sat on the ground, leaning his back against the frame. It felt nice to be closer to Hermione, too.

She was snoring ever so slightly, causing a massive lopsided smile to settle on his face as he began reading. For some reason, it was more enjoyable to read aloud to himself. After all, the book was quite massive and he had a hard time making out the small font in the moonlight if he read silently. He definitely remembered reading portions of this book before school, but realized how fascinating it was now that he wasn't just skimming to be done with it. After getting through the opening chapter, he decided to sneak a look at the dozing girl above him.

Carefully, Ron turned the book over to keep his place and sat up on his knees, turning to peer over at Hermione. He noticed she was no longer snoring, which perplexed him. Her eyelashes were so long and dark and lovely, he had the sudden urge to kiss them. He began, very slowly, to lean down towards her face, convinced that she wouldn't so much as stir so long as he went about it lightly.

"Why'd you stop reading?" her voice rang out softly, completely taking Ron off guard. Stifling a yelp with his hand, he fell back onto his bum and tried to compose his shocked face. He had nearly kissed her goddamn eyelids! With her wide awake the whole bloody time! His ears burned with embarrassment and he uttered a silent _thank Merlin_ that the room was dark enough that she likely didn't notice.

"I...er…sorry, I thought you were still sleeping and I wanted to…check on you…" Ron said in the calmest tone he could muster. "Are you alright?"

"Mmm," came her soft reply.

"Er…sorry? Is that a good 'mmm' or, um…" Ron stammered, trying to regain his composure. "Do you need something?"

"I suspect I'm as fine as can be, considering. Can you make some light? Not too bright, please-" she whispered, still clearing her throat to find her proper voice.

"How's this?" Ron gently tapped the deluminator, causing the standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room to glow with a soft golden light.

"Perfect," croaked her reply. Ron nearly lost his breath when her face was illuminated. While she still looked unusually pale and still a bit tired; however, the dark circles under her eyes had gone down since she was last awake and she sported a small smile in the corner of her mouth. The one that drove Ron mad – particularly when he was stuck in conversation with Lavender and saw Hermione joking with Harry across the common room. She was bloody gorgeous. Her hair had fallen out from the ribbon Ron used earlier to pull it back while helping Fleur, with a few tendrils framing her pretty face. He decided right then and there that she had the most perfect nose of anyone in the entire world.

"Hi." Ron whispered nervously, not sure if he should treat her like everything was just fine and dandy or acknowledge that just eight hours prior she had been tortured unconscious. He settled for an awkward, baffled look that seemed to spur on her teasing smile.

"Hi back. Have I been asleep long? I –" Her voice caught in her throat, sounding miserably sore. "Sorry, can I have some more water, Ron?"

Ron sat up quickly, eyes darting around in search of the glass. Filling it again and handing it to her, he decided to be bold and sit on the edge of her bed close to her pillows. She took a few gulps and handed the cup back to him, scooting farther over on the bed to make room for more of Ron – a motion he most certainly made note of.

"I think you slept a few good hours, though not as long as you probably should have. I really hope I didn't wake you."

"No, it's fine, it was really nice to wake up to your voice rather than eerie silence in a place I've never been before. Thank you for staying with me," she said quietly, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

"Always," he immediately replied, momentarily glad that he'd spoken his true feelings before fear flashed tried to convince him that maybe that was too intense of an answer. She seemed to appreciate it though, and raised her eyes to give him a shy smile.

"Hermione, can you eat a bit? Fleur made this great soup…well, I actually haven't tried it," he said brightly with the usual animation he had when speaking about food, "but it smelled great and all I'll need to do is go get it from downstairs and warm it up a bit-"

"No!" she cried, her arm flashing out from under the cover to grasp his wrist. Ron immediately shushed her gently, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together. "I want you to stay," came her pitiful whisper, in a voice Ron had seldom ever heard from Hermione.

"Of course, love, I'll stay. Don't you worry," he soothed, wanting to smack himself in the head for causing her distress. He raised their joined hands and kissed hers lightly, thinking of how he's manage to get food upstairs to her without leaving her side.

"Love. I like when you call me that," she said quietly, not making eye contact with him. Her face grew a shade redder, which delighted Ron to no end. He didn't want to push his luck, but he reckoned that he might call her that a lot more now. "Honestly, there is something…" she murmured, still avoiding his gaze.

"What is it? Anything, 'Mione…just tell me," he said, his voice coming out surprisingly calmer than he'd expected.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm disgusting," she said in a deadpan voice, "I'm sure I've been scourgified, but I still _smell_ her on me-" Hermione's once expressionless voice melted into a soft cry, and Ron immediately tensed up. _I'll kill the bitch_. Hatred for Bellatrix Lestrange burned red-hot, and he wanted to audibly roar that he'd find her and kill her.

"Please Ron, can I have a proper bath?" She sounded shaky, weak again. Vanished was the confident, teasing Hermione he knew so well. "I just-"

Shushing her, he pulled her into his arms for the third time that day.

Moments later Ron found himself down the hallway in the bathroom with one arm supporting Hermione around the waist, lowering her down to sit atop the closed toilet seat, and his other flicking Wormtail's wand towards the tub to begin a bath. He began muttering under his breath the things he'd do to that vile woman if he ever crossed her path again.

His eyes flashed up at Hermione when he heard her wince. She had been reaching for a towel just in front of her on the wall, but now grimaced and rubbed her shoulder.

"Hermione, let me-"

"I can do it!" Ron recoiled at her shrill voice, sounding nothing like the quiet tone she'd used earlier. Tears immediately sprung to her eyes.

Squatting down in front of her, he searched for the words to say that would make her feel better. The last thing he wanted to do was unintentionally patronize her, thinking of all the times his family had tried to comfort him the past two months and he'd just shamefully sink lower and lower into self deprecation. She met his gaze, brown eyes bright and shining. He felt they were piercing his – cutting straight through to him.

"I would very much like to take care of you right now," he began, praying that she wouldn't feel belittled by his words. "You were so strong today," he paused, "well, you've _always_ been strong, obviously, and today you were just extraordinary, brave girl. But you were _tortured_ ," his voice broke on that word, but he pressed on, spurred on by her shining eyes staring straight back at him. "And I'd like to take care of you right now if you'll let me."

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded. She sniffed and lowered her hands to the bow tied on Fleur's pink dressing gown. Ron gulped, knowing that this was one of those times he needed to grow up. He locked eyes with Hermione, keeping his gaze fixed on hers as she pushed down the gown from her shoulders and slowly stood up. Ron, still looking right into her eyes, rose with her, his arms helping to pull the robe from her body and help her stand. His eyes moved only from her face to the water to the floor and back at her face as she lowered herself into the tub, hissing as the mixture of warm water and soap met her sore body.

Ron sat down by the tub's edge, double checking the water's temperature and reaching for the shampoo and soap so Hermione wouldn't have to. Her eyes closed and she sunk down to her neck, wincing as she stretched out her legs. For a few minutes they both sat in silence.

"Feel good?" Ron asked, instantly regretting his words. _You git! Course she doesn't feel good. Why are you still in here?_

"It does," she smiled, catching him off guard. "I haven't had a proper bath in so long – I forgot how heavenly it is!"

Ron cursed himself – he'd definitely enjoyed this bath, after leaving Harry and Hermione on the horcrux hunt. Enjoyed delcious Weasley cooking and beds and warm baths while the other two scavenged for mushrooms and bathed in frigid streams. _Merlin, what a shit friend he was._

Sensing his discomfort, Hermione reached over to tap him on the head. "Would you like the honor of washing my filthy hair, Ron Weasley?"

 _Did…did Hermione just snicker at him?_ Blimey. He nervously reached for the shampoo and paused, not sure if he should dump it on straight onto her head or into his hands to rub into her hair. After a terse moment of deliberation he settled for the latter, grateful to see that Hermione had sat up in the tub and turned so her damp hair was closer to him. She'd brought her knees to her check and faced her back to him, cleaning her arms with the soapy water.

It was a sublime experience to wash her hair. Ron moved so slowly, anxious that one careless move would land soap in her eyes or into her ears as he lathered. His fingers gently massaged her scalp, watching the bubbles that gathered in her dark hair. Hermione had stopped cleaning herself and visibly relaxed, at one point letting out what sounded to Ron like a deep sigh.

She had been right – her hair was deceptively filthy. The once white, sudsy water had a grayish tint. Hermione shivered and he noticed the goose bumps rising on her shoulders and back. "I think we can rinse it now..." he murmured, reaching behind to grab the wand and reheat the water.

It was Hermione's turn to gulp, as Ron ran clear water over her head and tenderly washed away the suds. It was a bit of an awkward position to lean her head back, and at one point she felt the sting of the wound on her neck as soapy water ran over the cut. Wincing, she reached one hand up to lightly touch it.

"Ron…what did she do to here?" she whispered, afraid to press too hard as she traced the line several inches across her skin.

The color drained from his face as Ron remembered… well, that _she_ didn't remember. Was that a good thing? Or scarier for her? He wrestled with which words to use, how to explain that she'd threatened to slash her throat if the boys hadn't surrendered their wands. Before it all came crashing down.

"A dagger…she, um, knew that something was wrong and that we might get away, so she held it there…" he forced out, not knowing if his words made any sense to her.

"When?"

"Well, after Harry and I escaped from the cellar. But before the chandelier…did you know a chandelier-?"

"Mhmm. I think I do remember that part."

"Was anyone else up there? Did Draco stay?"

"Malfoy. He doesn't deserve to be called by any bloody first name-" Ron spat before Hermione continued.

"Ron." Her heartbreaking retort made him even sadder. God, he _hated_ talking about this. Despised that this was now a memory they'd have to add to the growing mountain of unfortunate experiences his friends have had to endure. They were so fucking _young_. Greyback's disgusting, leering face appeared before him and he cursed. _"We can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."_

"Shit, I should have done something before. Before she…before we got taken…the snatchers…" Ron suddenly choked on emotion, his voice breaking and sobs to wracking his body. Hermione reached her hands up to expose his face from where he'd covered it with his arms, gently soothing him with, " _s'alright, Ron_ " and " _I'm here, it's fine_."

His eyes felt swollen as he opened them, mortified that he'd managed to break down in front of her, while she was still starkers in the tub no less. Her eyes locked on his, still gently comforting him with soft words as her fingers ran back and forth across his arm lightly.

"Maybe it's a good thing I don't remember all of it. I wish I could make you forget," she said pensively. "I mean, of course, I remember you. I have flashes, you know, of remembering you calling my name. It helped."

Ron's voice was still too thick to reply. He felt dizzy from his outburst and lack of sleep. He also couldn't believe she was now the one consoling him. He stopped her hands from tracing his arms and brought one hand to his lips, gently kissing it before doing the same to her other hand.

"You're sweet," she whispered, a delightful blush deepening her cheeks. "I think I'm finished here, Ron."

"Of course! I'll, um, just carry you then? I'd rather you not walk just yet. We can have a go at walking tomorrow." Rom summoned a fluffy blue towel from the stack behind him, keeping his eyes glued on her damp face while stretching the terrycloth out in front of her. When Hermione walked into the outstretched towel, he helped tuck it around her body, grinning as she harrumphed as he pretended to haul a heavy load from the tub. She made no effort to keep him from lifting her right off her feed into his arms as he carried her back to the room and set her down gently. _Merlin, she smelled good._

"Maybe, um, I could just have a moment…" she blushed, holding the towel tightly around her as Ron handed her the bag.

"Of course," he breathed, knowing she wanted some privacy to change and could probably do that on her own just fine.

 _Dead God, look away you bloody pervert._ His eyes snapped to the floor and quickly walked down the hall, not quite sure what to do with himself. Should he wait a few minutes and knock on the door? Should he take this as a cue to go sleep downstairs? Did his helping with the bath appear cheeky?

He awkwardly peered into the dark room Harry and Mr. Ollivander were sharing, hoping they were asleep. Ron didn't feel like engaging in any conversation with them, but felt stupid standing by the stairs just steps away from where Bill and Fleur were sleeping. He saw that they were still dozing, though the room was eerily quiet. It gave him a funny feeling and he decided that he'd rather sleep downstairs with Luna, Griphook, and Dean instead of taking a kip on the floor of this room. There was just something about seeing Ollivander outside of Diagon Alley that made Ron's hair stand on end.

"Ron?" Hermione's faint whisper carried down the hall. With a deep breath he entered the room again, gently closing the door behind him. Hermione was smiling at him warmly from her perch on the bed, wearing pajama pants he knew well from months of camping together and a plain long-sleeve t-shirt.

"Would you mind tying up my hair, Ronald? It hurts to lift my arms that high." His heart swelled that she sought out his help, and for another opportunity to touch her hair. For some reason, the burning desire to tell her he fancied her weighed heavily on him all of a sudden.

"Course. You still got that ribbon?" His voice came out gruffer than he intended, and his palms felt a bit sweaty. _Merlin, you literally bathed her moments ago and now you're nervous to put up her hair?_

He stood behind her next to the bed; his brow furrowed in concentration as he gathered her damp locks and held the ribbon in-between his teeth. Delicately, he gathered it up at the top of her head and fixed the ribbon around it, proud of his work. Ron thought she looked downright adorable. "Not bad," Ron said appraisingly.

"Ronald Weasley. If you never have a daughter of your own it'd be a shame. Raw talent!" Hermione teased, a gleam in her eye as she felt his work and turned around to smile at him.

Ron gulped. He knew she was just joking, but he felt strangely discomfited at the mention of his hypothetical child. He decided to play it up instead of awkwardly changing the subject.

"She'd be cute! Red hair and all – no denying that," Ron flashed back, pretending to swell with pride. "Bloody cute kids I'm going to have! You should see the photo Mum has of me on her nightstand – I'm adorable!"

Hermione laughed, the sound echoing around the room and causing Ron's heart to soar. "Are you referring to the one where Percy's…Percy's…" and with that she collapsed onto the bed in a fit of giggles.

"Bare arse is showing? Yep, that's the one. Looks awful proud of it there, that git. He slaps it for good measure, remember?"

Hermione was still doubled over in laugher, trying to catch her breath. "I can't believe your mum has _that_ one framed! Surely there are more modest little Weasley pictures to have on display."

"Well you know Mum…she loves authenticity. Besides, we needed evidence that Weasleys don't all have freckles _everywhere_."

With that, Hermione erupted into laughter again, her face flushed as she wiped away a tear from laughing so hard. The room felt brighter, the air lighter. Ron couldn't speak, she was so ruddy gorgeous. He had an overwhelming urge to kiss her.

"Well then, that there nearly took the life out of me," Hermione chuckled, obviously referring to her fit of laughter. Ron's face paled at the phrase she chose, the pure joyfulness from the lighthearted moment deflating instantly. _That's not funny at all._

She didn't notice his response and pulled back the blanket, sighing contentedly as she lay down. "Ron?" Her brow furrowed. "What's the matter?" Hermione paused, when pat the bed next to her.

With two steps he was at the bed, sinking down next to her. "Get under you silly," Hermione smirked, lifting up the covers for him to slip his legs in. He was so close to her again and felt his heart rate quicken. She smelled like Hermione again in her pajamas, sort of like vanilla and parchment, which made him want to bury his face in her shirt. Though he made a concerted effort to relax without making bodily contact with the girl next to him, their legs brushed and his heart skipped a beat.

"Ron, if you feel weird you don't have to…but if you don't mind, I'm fine sharing the bed tonight. It's ridiculous for you to sleep on the floor, really, and…um…we've been through quite a lot today, haven't we?" Hermione began confidently but her voice tapered off to a near whisper, eyes meeting his.

Ron didn't know what to say. Countless boyhood fantasies of sharing a bed with a girl, specifically _Hermione_ , was actually coming true, in none of the ways he'd imagined. Creeping up the stairs to the boys' dorm in her Hogwarts uniform, sneaking into his room at the Burrow in the heat of summer, climbing into his bunk during the horcrux search, but this…he never could have pictured. She was spent, obviously, her body still recovering. And his older brother was sleeping just down the hall! Plus he still had no confirmation that she fancied him, though he wondered. Of course, he _always_ wondered if she might.

"Ron?" Her voice was soft, and he nearly jumped as he felt her arm circle through his elbow despite his crossed arms. He let out a deep breath, gathered all of the Gryffindor courage he had, and unhooked his arm to pull her deep into his side. She let out a light chuckle and wiggled closer. There wasn't an adequate word in the world to describe how Ron felt when she did that. He reached over and grabbed his deluminator, removing the light and pulling the covers a bit higher over both of them.

They lay in silence for a few moments, Ron counting his lucky stars and assuming Hermione was quickly falling asleep. He rubbed circles across her back lazily with his hand, taking note of how freezing her feet were (even clad in socks) against his shins. He felt her shift, and dared to look down to see her fingers bunch his shirt lightly in her fist.

Love for her swelled in his chest. A different kind of roaring emotion took over his senses– one of intense affection and fierce protection over the beautiful girl in his arms. _You are one fucking lucky bloke, Ron Weasley. Now I see why people get pensieves._

Decided to succumb to his overwhelming need for sleep, Ron yawned and angled his head down to rest atop Hermione's. Gently, he planted three successive kisses to the crown of her head and closed his eyes. The distant sound of the waves combined with Hermione's steady breathing gently began to lull him to sleep. The very antitheses of when they'd first arrived to this place.

Suddenly he heard her voice float up, so soft he nearly missed her utter, "I love you, Ron."

 _Hey everyone! I think I'll take this a couple chapters more – leading up to their fateful Gringotts trip. Can you do me a favor and write a review? I'd be so grateful to know what you're thinking so far! It might get a little...erm...M-Rated in the next chapter. Many thanks to those who've already reviewed._


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm going to be straight up with you guys…I struggled with this chapter. It feels awkward to transition from place to place (you'll see what I mean) but I think it's necessary for story development. Please be kind with reviews if this chapter wasn't your cup of tea. I think the next one will flow a lot better (fingers crossed). Thank you to those who've favored this story – means the world!_

Ron's entire body heated upon hearing her words. He felt his heart might explode. Not uttering a single thing back, he found himself back and forth between elation and disbelief. _She hasn't a clue what she said – she's already fallen asleep! She meant like a brother. She'd have said the same thing to Harry if he had been the one helping her today. She loves us both. But she said it…she said she loves me. She said my name._

What a day. He could hardly believe that less than twenty-four hours ago he had been camping with his best mates in Gloucestershire (at least he thought…Ron realized he couldn't even remember where they'd been that morning) and then Wiltshire, and now Tinworth. Blimey. He'd been sick with worry, boiling with rage, petrified with fear, relieved beyond imagination…he chuckled as he remembered what Hermione had said about him years ago. _Emotional range of a teaspoon my arse._

And now Ron felt a calm peace settle over him in the darkness of that room. Hermione was alive, and she loved him. Whatever that meant they'd sort out later. She was next to him. In bed. He was holding her. They were under the warm cover of a quilt that screamed Weasley-made. She was half laying on him. One of her legs was tangled up between his. The feeling of her so bloody _close_ was beginning to do things to Ron.

At one point, Hermione snuggled closer and brought her right knee to rest on Ron's hip. Her ankle was dangerously close to an area of Ron's body that was shamefully taking on a life of its own. He uncomfortably shifted to accommodate the sensation.

 _Please be asleep. Please be asleep. For the love of_ Merlin _, stop moving!_ Ron grit his teeth and felt blood rush southward. It was in that moment that he became acutely aware of Hermione's chest pressed up against him. Sure, what she lacked in that department she made up for with a gorgeous face and fit body, but he was still a bloke. Women's chests, from Madam Rosmerta to Moaning Myrtle, did something for him.

Ron closed his eyes and tried to think of other things, like treacle tart and his last quidditch game and the time he beat Charlie at Wizard's Chess. His thoughts drifted to that fateful chess match to get to the Philosopher's Stone, which then brought about a whole slew of memories of first year. Hogwarts Express. Meeting Harry. Meeting her.

 _What if she loves me because she_ loves _me loves me? What if I kissed her right now? We could have a proper snogging session right here in this bed and get married and pretend this bloody war wasn't happening right now. Shell Cottage seems just as good as any old place. And then, she could lay on top of me like she is now but after doing all sorts of things…_

And with that, Ron dreamed happily of things that would make his ears burn with redness had Hermione had any idea.

Ron woke some hours later to an unnerving feeling. Before opening his eyes, he knew Hermione was soundly asleep next to him – he could feel her warm body pressed up next to him. He blinked a few times, his mind registering that he was still in bed at Shell Cottage, Hermione was next to him, he had a crick in his neck, the room was lighter, and…

"Shit! Fleur, are you _mental_?" Ron hissed while flinching at the sight of Fleur peering down at them a few steps from the bed, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder and arms tightly crossed over her chest. Ron quickly recovered from the shock of seeing her, but felt the adrenaline still pumping as his heart tried to return to a normal pace. Hermione murmured in her sleep and twisted in the bed, burying her face further into the pillow and shifting to lay on her other side. Ron was sad to feel less of her pressed against him.

Fleur quietly apologized for startling him, but insisted they come down to eat some of the food she prepared. "Time to 'ave breakfast. Eet iz past nine, and better to get up now zan oversleep." Ron appeased his sister-in-law by slowly pulling back the thick quilt and moving his feet to the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he lazily rubbed his face in his hands. Satisfied, Fleur turned on her heel and left the room, giving Ron the privacy to wake Hermione from her slumber.

She was facing the wall away from Ron, her hair still pulled back but looking a bit wild. Her slender arms were curled up towards her face. He couldn't resist the urge to lie back down and scoot very near to her, sharing the edge of her pillow.

"'Mione? Time to wake up…" he whispered gently in her ear. She didn't so much as stir. Ron took this as his cue to lightly rub his hand up and down her arm, careful to wake her gently. Normally Hermione was the first one to wake for…anything, really. There was rarely a day where Ron beat her to the Great Hall for breakfast before classes (especially not on the weekends) and Hermione always woke with a start to take over her shifts during the horcrux hunt.

After he whispered a second time, Hermione yawned deeply and stretched her back, causing her backside to make contact with Ron's front.

 _Merlin._

She shifted further back towards him, wriggling her body to burrow deliciously close to Ron's chest. Immediately he regretted lying back down, feeling terribly guilty that his desire was building again when she was still so vulnerable. Mustering self-control, Ron sat up and called out her name clearly, pulling back the blanket from Hermione's shoulders.

"Stop it." Her voice croaked, muffled by the pillow near her mouth.

"Morning, sunshine. Time for breakfast!"

"No."

"'Mione…."

" _No._ " Ron couldn't help but chuckle at the determined reply.

"Do I have to carry you downstairs?" Ron teased as he patted her back softly. She sighed deeply and turned brusquely on the mattress, opening her dark eyes to look up at him. Her lovely lashes seemed longer than Ron remembered as he met her gaze.

"There she is. You sleep alright?" In response, she just nodded. Ron stared at the small smattering of freckles that climbed over the bridge of her nose, so faint they were hardly noticeable. The small cuts and scratches that had been slashed all across her face were gone today thanks to the dittany, though the thin red line on her neck remained prominent.

"Want to freshen up and meet me downstairs? I think you'd feel better getting out of this bed, love." Hermione didn't answer right away but kept her gaze locked with his. He noticed her eyes begin to well up and he instantly regretted his prompting.

"What's wrong? Did I say something…?" He asked worriedly as she shook her head, wiping her eyes and sitting up.

"No, no…you're perfect. You've been so sweet to me, Ron." She spoke with such sincerity that Ron couldn't come up with a playful response. He just flashed a lopsided smile and kissed the top of her head, then helped her off the bed and saw that she got what she needed to head to the bathroom. Once he got her settled, Ron quickly swapped his pajamas for a dark green shirt, jeans, and thick pair of wool socks and made the short descent downstairs. His ever-faithful nose worked in tandem with his growling stomach, leading him towards an increasingly strong smelling kitchen and light chatter of houseguests. Ron was reminded of home and how sorely he took for granted the feeling of walking down the steps to his family chatting contentedly while enjoying breakfast together at the Burrow.

Jugs of pumpkin juice, stacks of buttered toast, a large pot of porridge, and platter of sausages sat proudly upon the rustic table. Ron filled his plate happily and joined Dean and Harry as they tucked into their breakfast, all of them acknowledging that this was the best meal they'd had in quite some time. Luna wandered about the kitchen munching on toast, puzzling Fleur as the older woman struggled to engage the younger in conversation.

Ron eventually heard Dean call out a boisterous good morning to Hermione, who blushed as she came behind him and took the open seat next to Ron. She looked lovely in a pair of navy corduroys and a lilac jumper, her hair falling down in waves around her face.

"Glad to see you, Hermione," Harry smiled warmly towards her before turning back ask Dean more about how his family had been since the ministry had fallen.

"Here – eat," Ron managed to speak despite his mouth full of porridge, handing Hermione a clean plate. Swallowing, he put down his spoon and began to reach for a slice of toast to add to it when he heard Luna's ominous warning.

"Hermione, are you alright? You look quite sallow." With that, Hermione clasped both hands over her mouth and retched. Before anyone could react, she stood quickly from the table, bumping it with her hip in haste and causing the boys' cups of pumpkin juice to spill over. Ron shot up from his seat as well and took Hermione's arm to walk her towards garden through the back door, but not before she doubled over and vomited a second time all over the floor. Ron stepped over the mess and continued to gently pull Hermione towards the door. He knew her well enough to recognize she was mortified and knew she'd also appreciate some fresh air.

The cold, salty breeze was a welcome relief as it hit both their faces. Seagulls cawed amidst the gentle thunder of the crashing waves. Bright mid-morning rays cheered the otherwise deserted stretch of beach with glorious light, shimmering on the sea like a thousand glittering jewels. Ron turned to face her but gave her some space, not wanting to overwhelm her. His heart broke to see her eyes teary again.

"God, Ron, I'm so sorry. Poor Fleur…her lovely breakfast…it was just too much for me, with the smells and the thought of all that rich food - " Hermione began explaining quickly before her face paled. Ron immediately reached around and pulled her hair back as she doubled over once again, but this time she just heaved and then groaned miserably. When she back straightened up again, Ron steadied her with both hands on her upper arms.

"Don't think about food, um, think about, let's see…erm…jobberknolls. Oh wait, that's a bit morbid. No, think about those quills you like so much at…bullocks, what's the name of that shop in Hogsmeade you always made Harry and I –" Ron stammered, taken off guard as she leaned forward and rested her head against his chest.

"Ron, don't swear," came her muffled reply into his shirt. He smiled sympathetically and wrapped both arms around her small frame. He didn't really care if Hermione puked all over his shirt. He just wanted her to feel better. They stood like that for a few minutes as Ron gave Hermione time for her nausea to settle, his fingers scratching lightly over her back. He remembered how his mum would do the same thing whenever he'd felt ill – just enough pressure to provide comfort without overwhelming him.

The moment was ruined when Harry clumsily burst out the back door behind them, swearing loudly as hot liquid spilled onto his hand. "Blimey, Harry, watch yourself!" Ron snapped, releasing Hermione to take the now half-empty mug of tea from Harry's grasp. He almost wanted to laugh at the clear role reversal they'd seemed to have. Fleur followed Harry with a chair from the kitchen and placed it in the gravelly garden path for Hermione to sit on, coming down in front of her to investigate the cause of the sudden nausea. Bill poked his head outside to inquire if anyone wanted the last of the sausages before he finished them off, leading Dean and Harry to loudly object and Hermione's already ashen face to turn even whiter.

"Would everyone mind giving some room?" Ron asked, his tone more forceful than he intended. Harry's eyebrows rose as he glanced at Ron but he seemed to understand. Luna cocked her head to the side and beamed at Ron in a way that made him quite uncomfortable, to say the least, before she turned to grab Dean by the hand.

"Let's look for seashells, Dean. If we're lucky we might come across a washed-up grindylow. Harry, will you join us?" Luna's voice punctured the awkward silence but gave Ron a reprieve as three of them walked (or skipped) down towards the shore. Fleur huffed as she stood and walked back into the house, muttering about healing properties of the tea before closing the door behind her.

Ron turned to Hermione who sat with her hands folded in her lap on the old kitchen chair, its legs sunk unevenly into the ground. She finished off the tea with a few sips and pursed her lips.

"I think we can find somewhere more comfortable. Fancy a short walk to the dunes?" Ron held his hand out to her, prepared to brace her should she be shaky on her legs.

"Yes, I'd love that," Hermione said evenly as she rose and began walking quite assuredly towards the sandy hills, the mug left abandoned on the chair. Ron was glad to see her so steady as he matched her pace but didn't want to push her. He remembered how she'd snapped at him the night before during the bath – he needed to be delicate with Hermione but not baby her.

As his mind mulled over these things, her felt her soft hand appear next to his and his heart skipped a beat. Without thinking twice he laced their fingers together and they walked the remaining fifty meters to the dunes.

The wind felt wilder atop the sandy embankment and the sea stretched out endlessly before them. He heard Hermione breathe a loud sigh of contentment, and when he glanced over he noticed her eyes were closed and her head gently tipped forward as the cold air whipped her hair around. Ron watched her for a while, wondering when she'd open her eyes and realize he'd been gawking at her.

A few seconds later he audibly gulped as she turned to him and quietly said, "Ron, we need to talk."


	5. Chapter 5

Ron knew from years at the bottom of the Weasley brother pecking order that there was a difference between getting in trouble and having a stern talking-to. When Ron would fume about the mean tricks the twins would play on him or complain about the missing chocolate frogs he _knew_ he'd left under his bed for safekeeping, he'd get in trouble. That usually entailed his mum having a good yell at his back while sending him upstairs or a smack from Bill or Charlie if they were in charge while their parents were out. When he said a hateful word to Ginny the time she lost his prized quaffle or got poor marks in school, it resulted in a serious conversation with his dad in the tool shed or on a walk down the lane near the Burrow. Ron preferred the yelling and punishments to the convicting talks.

Hermione wanted to talk. His mind immediately snapped to The Worst Decision Ever. The foolish, emotionally heightened, horrendously thoughtless and embarrassingly selfish time he let Slytherin's Locket nearly ruin the relationships he held most dear. The Worst Decision Ever was really not that long ago, either.

 _"I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all that you dread is also possible..."_ Those words still burned into his memory, feeding his insecurities with lies faster than he could quench them with what he knew to be true.

 _Hermione doesn't fancy Harry. She doesn't. Mum loves you as much as Ginny and Percy and Charlie and Fred and George and Bill. She does. It's not a bloody competition._

"Ron?" Hermione's quiet voice snapped him out of his dark thoughts. Somehow they were more pleasant to dwell on than facing the present anxiety he felt, threatening to choke him tighter than the horrid locket. His eyes moved from the late morning horizon to Hermione's lovely brown eyes. Her jaw was set tight, arms by her side. Ron dug his fists into his pocket. The wind blew his hair around as well as Hermione's, though she didn't bother to tuck it behind her ears. She looked resolved to do something. Say something. He nervously met her gaze.

"You've been…wonderful to me," she started, her voice softer than before. "I want you to know that I appreciate everything, especially –" she paused to clear her throat, " _especially_ how you've taken care of me here." Hermione took a deep breath, looking down at her shoes as she lightly drew a line through the sand in front of her. Ron watched her trainer move back and forth, unable to lift his eyes to see if she was looking at him again.

"Ron, you surely must know how I feel about you. How I've felt for a rather long time." His head snapped up. _What?!_ Before he could even begin to think about forming a coherent response, she began talking again.

"Of course the timing is rubbish – but last year didn't exactly prove to be much better with everything going on, I suppose. It isn't just because you've been so kind to me that I'm telling you this. It's just made me feel the need to come to terms with how I'm feeling and be honest with you, Ron. And I need you to know," Hermione paused again, her brown eyes meeting his blue with intensity, "that I think we should wait until this whole war is over. Before…before sorting anything out between us." He saw a kind of sadness on her face that was usually reserved for times when Ron and Harry had a particularly bad row.

A full minute passed before Ron could find the words to reciprocate. Hermione patiently stood by the cliff's edge, her eyes moving from Ron's face to take in the expanse of the ocean. _She fancies you. She wants to wait. She wants to wait until the war is over. She's so pretty. Words, you blundering idiot. You have to speak. You like her too. You can wait. We can wait._

A million possible responses flew through his brain. He wanted to tell her how absurdly happy he was to hear those words. She hardly said anything at all, but those few words were powerful. They made Ron's heart roar with a kind of joy he couldn't begin to describe to her, even if he wanted to.

But he knew as well what she _didn't_ say that hung between the two of them – it was because of Harry that they needed to wait. Harry, as usual, had to come first. But instead of rage or bitterness or jealousy or abhorrence for their current reality, Ron felt peace settle on him unlike any time he'd ever been alone with Hermione.

"You're right." He said, taking a step towards her. "We should wait before…um…figuring this out." Ron motioned between them with his hand, indicating that he understood exactly what she was referring to. Out of the corner of his eye Ron saw Luna skipping past, her yellow hair blowing behind her. "Surely you know how I've felt about you for a long time…despite, um, sixth year." Ron felt his face burn with embarrassment at the ridiculous relationship with Lavender. Shame hindered him from explaining further.

Hermione was closer. She stepped within arm's reach, her shadow darkening Ron's shoes. Suddenly her cool hand was on his warm cheek, drawing his face to meet her gaze. Her eyes were teary, but gone was the look of sadness, of pity. She was wearing a small smile instead.

"I know," she whispered, inching closer. Ron's eyes closed as she stood on her tiptoes and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. His hands crept from his pockets and went to her waist, steadying her as she leaned back and they looked at each other for some time.

"Add this to the very long list of reasons why we need to fight this. Why this will all be worth it," Ron said quietly, reveling in having Hermione so close and the knowledge that they now shared of their feelings toward one another. She leaned into him and his arms automatically circled her, resting his head atop hers and watching as their friends walking along the shoreline in the distance. The peace felt tangible, like the swelling of his heart. He could hold her like this all day. The seconds stretched into minutes. Ron felt Hermione lean more heavily against him and he wondered if she was all right.

Suddenly Ron's stomach audibly gurgled and Hermione chucked, leaning back and removing her body from his embrace.

"Let's get a head start on lunch? I'm sure we have loads to talk about with the others this afternoon," she said, turning towards the house as Ron followed. He couldn't help but gawk at her from behind as she clumsily made her way down the sandy hill, reaching out once to grasp her arm when she took too wide a step.

She stopped abruptly when they came to the white tombstone on the outskirts of Fleur's garden. Hermione walked right up to it and swuatted down, her fingers tracing the rough carving of _Free Elf_.

"I heard what you said, when we first got here," Hermione said softly, turning to Ron standing a few steps to her right. He gazed at her, the beautiful young woman who knew more about him than most anyone in the entire world. Her thumb yanked down the sleeve of her lilac sweater, brushing a tear from her the corner of her eye. "About – about S.P.E.W. About Dobby. Ron, I'm just so glad he had that freedom." With that, her shoulders hunched and she began crying silently into her hands. Ron was down on his knees behind her in seconds. His strong arms turned her gently and held her in his lap, her legs out to one side as she wiped stray tears from her face. Hermione sniffled as he planted a soft kiss to her forehead.

"It reminds me of a when I went to church as a little girl with mum and dad. The vicar read this passage one time I'll never forget – about laying one's life down for your friends…how it's the greatest love there is. It's so true." Hermione whispered, her fingers playing with Ron's green shirt. They sat for a moment longer before Hermione hopped up and pulled Ron inside Shell Cottage.

He knew this was a turning point – a landmark conversation had transpired that would forever change the way Ron saw Hermione. As Fleur and Bill animatedly spoke with Hermione in the kitchen and the others from the beach eventually filed back into the house, Ron sat quietly and replayed the discussion from the cliff in his head.

 _Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers your friend..._ Ron remembered the taunting locket.

"Rubbish!" He exclaimed, a smirk accompanying the lightheartedness in his chest as the lie became so obvious it was almost comical. Everyone within earshot turned to stare at him confusedly.

"Did I say that out loud? Accident. Carry on." He muttered, winking at Hermione as they made eye contact. She smiled softly and turned back to Fleur, hands cupping a steaming mug of tear as they continued their conversation.

 _Hope you enjoy this chapter, everyone! I think we'll have one more to go after this. Thank you for your kind reviews, favorites, follows – all appreciated!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Alright, confession time: that last chapter, while important to me and maybe my favorite in terms of getting all the feelings out there, was written far too fast. I was determined to write it after work and ended up running late to dinner at a friend's house, and instead of waiting till I got back to proofread I just went ahead and posted it. As a result it's littered with typos and is far shorter than it could have been. To make it up, I'm doubling the size of this chapter! Hope you enjoy! xx Violet_

"Checkmate." Ron tried to hide the smirk on his face, but that didn't keep Harry from swearing loudly enough that even Dean recoiled, smacking Harry on the back as the two of them unenthusiastically accepted defeat. The defeated friends stood to stretch their bodies. Ron had won the last two lengthy games of Wizard's Chess solo while his friends teamed up, and they'd played for nearly three hours after dinner.

Earlier that day, a heavy storm had rolled into Tinworth. Ominous dark clouds and the crack of thunder lead to the entire motley crew (except Mr. Ollivander, who was still upstairs in bed) to huddle up around the fire in the living room, taking time to debrief the events at Malfoy Manor. There was no mention of Hermione's torture – no need to, really. By this point everyone knew and discussing the traumatic experience further didn't serve a purpose. What everyone wanted to get on the same page about was how each of them had managed to get there and exact events that transpired to get them out. Bill and Fleur listened intently, only asking questions about Mr. Ollivander's experience directed at Luna, Dean, and Griphook.

As the fire started to die out, Ron stood to add more logs to revive the flames while the group continued talking. When he returned to his seat on the sofa, he noticed Hermione was fighting to stay awake. She sat in the overstuffed beige armchair next to the loveseat Harry and Luna were sharing, her head leaning precariously against her fist on a propped elbow and eyes droopy. Ron circled back towards the fireplace and reached for a thick wool blanket he found in the whicker basket and gingerly draped it over Hermione's lap.

"Thank you," she whispered, burrowing into the armchair and curling her legs up under the blanket. Ron knew it had been a long day for Hermione and wanted her to rest, but also knew she'd hate to be left out of the conversation which was likely why she was forcing her droopy eyes to remain open. Before she could fall asleep, Ron suggested that everyone take a break from the intense conversation and help Fleur with dinner. Both Fleur's and Hermione's slightly surprised but pleased expressions did not go unnoticed by Ron.

His sister-in-law began a roast earlier in the day but heaps of root vegetables sat on the table waiting to be peeled and Ron thought he had spotted some dough set aside to rise in the corner of the kitchen. His stomach was already twisting with hunger, but he knew it was completely ridiculous to depend on Fleur to prepare everything for nine houseguests. Even during meals at Grimmauld Place, his mum had no qualms about putting everyone to work.

As the others moved to the next room (aside from Griphook, who trudged up the stairs to join Mr. Ollivander's room) Hermione pulled back the blanket and moved her feet to the ground. Ron was at her side before she could rise from the armchair, crouching to her level and pulling the blanket back over her lap.

"We've got this. There are more than enough of us to help. Just take a little nap," Ron said gently, hoping she wouldn't put up a fuss. She looked so exhausted. "I'll come get you when it's time to eat. Just rest."

Ron was delighted as Hermione sat forward and pecked him on the cheek before snuggling back down into the chair. Her cheeks burned with a faint blush as Ron beamed at her, unable to contain his affection as he tucked the blanket around her small frame. Ron stood as she turned her body toward the back of the chair to sleep, but ensured that the shades were pulled and lamp turned off before going to help with dinner.

Taking a seat on a stool at the counter next to Harry, Ron grabbed several onions and began peeling away the purple skin. Harry cut the tops off several carrots before pausing to turn to Ron. For a tense moment, Ron feared the whole kitchen might overhear the quiet words Harry uttered before he realized that everyone was engaged in a story Bill was sharing across the crowded room.

"Do we need to leave her here?" Harry questioned, his voice disguised as nonchalant but Ron knew better. He was a terrible liar. "I'm worried. With her getting sick this morning and barely able to stay awake-"

"You bloody know well we wouldn't have made it this far without her," Ron snapped, fighting to keep his voice even. "She's saved our lives more times than I could count. Who knows where we'd be if she hadn't been with us. We'd be barking to leave her here now."

Harry's brow was furrowed as he continued cutting the skinny yellow and orange carrots. Ron had made a mess of the onions, with shards of purple skin covering the countertop as he wrestled the bulbs from their shells.

"Ron, look…I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but what happened yesterday…" Harry paused to stop chopping and looked right into Ron's face, a steely look in his green eyes. "Something like that might happen again…to any of us, really, but just as likely to be Hermione again. Remember who we're dealing with. All of them are still alive, and there're loads of them out there now. Probably more turning to their side as the days go on. We – we barely made it out of there with her, Ron."

Ron dropped the knife to the counter and cursed under his breath. He glanced towards the other end of the kitchen and was glad to see the others still had their attention held by Bill's story and Fleur's tasks. "You think I don't know that? Look – none of us are safe. I'd give anything to keep her protected, but she's just as much in this as the rest of us. She's not like Gin."

Ron regretted his words as soon as her name left his lips. He knew the topic of his younger sister was taboo around Harry, but it felt unavoidable. Ginny never knew exactly what was at stake, precisely how crucial it was that Harry complete this and no one else. She'd been spared the details. While it was horrible for Ron to see Hermione suffer, at least he knew where she was. How she was. The anguish for Harry to just wonder must be excruciating. Ron couldn't imagine feeling that way about Hermione. He needed Harry to know

"Look mate, I need you to know that nothing's, um… going to distract Hermione and I from helping you. We're focused on this. Getting those fucking horcruxes comes first." His voice sounded harsher than he intended, but he didn't apologize – he needed Harry to understand. Before his friend could respond, Fleur bustled over with a large pan and collected the vegetables the boys had been cutting and tasked them with setting the table.

As Ron laid plates down and Harry followed with utensils, they continued their rather intense conversation in hushed voices. If Bill, Fleur, or Dean suspected anything, they didn't give notice. Luna had gone outside to walk in the rain.

"We need to consult Griphook about next steps," Harry began, the patter of footsteps overhead prompting his thought, "we must get into Gringotts…it's the only way." He winced as Ron accidently dropped a fork to the ground, the sound reverberating around the kitchen as it clattered onto the stone floor.

"Think he'll even talk with us? Can't trust everything they say, Harry. We've been at odds with them since – well, ages. Had nightmares as a kid about Hodrod the Horny-Handed." Ron shuddered. Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed the goblets Fleur had brought out, adding one to each place at the table as Ron followed him.

"I think we need Bill's opinion, too. He knows better than anyone how to deal with them-"

"Why does it always have to be a ' _them'_ versus us, Ron?" Harry spat, setting the last goblet down so hard that the table shook slightly.

"Blimey, Harry, just because you grew up with Muggles doesn't mean the rest of us are some kind of – of – prejudiced lunatics! For Merlin's sake, you think I'd be best mates with a half-blood and muggle-born if I really cared about that sort of thing?" Ron felt his blood start to boil.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, realizing he'd crossed a line. "I know you don't think that way. I'm just keen to believe the best in people who've helped us lately. They're few and far between, and less likely to be witches and wizards."

"S'alright. We'll talk with Griphook – I just think Bill should be there, too," Ron punched Harry lightly in the arm, signaling a truce. They needed to stay on good terms. Despite Harry's moodiness and the dire situation they'd been in a day ago, Ron felt a lightness about him that probably had a lot to do with the conversation he'd had with Hermione earlier that day on the cliff. He also knew he needed Harry, and missed the ease of their friendship.

There was a boom of thunder and in the distance and the rain seemed to come down harder. Bill asked the boys to go out and beckon Luna inside as Fleur began carving the roast.

"I'm going to get Hermione," Ron said to Harry, who simply nodded and swung open the back door. Ron felt like he was walking into a cave as he stepped into the living room. The fire was still smoldering, its warm glow illuminating the pillows and cushions that had been placed around it while the group had sat there earlier talking. He knew Luna and Dean had made makeshift beds on the ground the night before, and wondered how many more nights they'd be crashing at Shell Cottage. With nightfall approaching and the storm outside, it justly felt like a sanctuary.

All Ron could make out in the dark room was a blanketed bulge on the armchair and a mop of curly hair. As he got closer, he heard her steady breathing and knew she was still fast asleep. He hated to wake her, but knew she needed to eat. She really hadn't had much of anything since they'd arrived. He grimaced as he recalled how nauseous she was this morning.

"Hermione?" He whispered softly, his hand reaching out to lightly squeeze her shoulder. Even the simple act of waking her for dinner felt tremendously intimate given the newfound knowledge that they cared for one another more than friends. He also still felt the overpowering urge to care for her after all she went through with the cruciatus curse.

It felt nice to see her asleep in front of him so relaxed. Rom knew there was so much they still needed to talk about. Lavender and his walking out during the horcrux hunt for starters. Today's acknowledgement and mutual decision to wait until the urgency of the present was more resolved was just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe one day they'd spend the holidays here like normal – the whole family, plus Harry and Hermione. Without fear of death eaters and ministry infiltrations and all the bloody danger. Hermione loved armchairs – he knew this about her. Particularly ones near windows and bookcases.

Ron's reverie was broken by the sound of Hermione's light groan and subsequent stirring as she woke from a deep sleep. With her eyes still closed, she stretched her legs out and yawned, bringing her elbow to stifle the sound. _She's perfect – so bloody gorgeous._

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled softly at Ron. He wasn't exactly sure what kind of face he wore but hoped it didn't look as creepy as he felt, suddenly self-conscious that she woke up with him staring over her.

She hummed lightly and sat up, hands going up to inspect her hair. "Oh dear, it feels like a bird's nest. How long was I sleeping?" Ron watched her pull tendrils apart, smoothing out her matted curls. She winced as she overextended her arm, body still sore from yesterday's events.

"You look great," Ron said rather too quickly, heat rising to his ears as she paused and met eyes with him. "I mean, like, you know…you just woke up. It's fine. You look pretty, I mean," he finished lamely but appreciated the sweet smile she returned to him. The glow of the fire highlighted the lighter strands of her hair. Ron wanted to pull her into to his chest and sit against the chair with her close to him, but the smells coming from the kitchen were nearly as tempting. Plus he knew how much Hermione needed to eat some substantive food. "Fleur made an impressive supper. Probably the best meal we'll have eaten in months. Let's go eat."

Hermione took his outstretched hand and stood up next to him, stumbling over a pillow at her feet and falling forward. Ron's hands caught her instantly, one grasping her left elbow and the other resting on the small of her back. Her jumper was a bit wrinkled and her hair still looked a bit wild, but Ron wondered if she'd ever looked more beautiful in his life. Blimey, this waiting thing was going to be hard.

When Hermione regained her composure (much faster than Ron was wanting to let her go), the two stood some distance apart and made their way to the kitchen. At the very moment Hermione was about to slide into the bench next to Ron, the door to the garden swung open and a soaking wet trio of Dean, Harry, and Luna hurried into the kitchen.

"Hi Hermione! You look dreadful – usually that means one slept very well or quite terribly," Luna said, her offensive words contrasting strikingly with the kind smile on her face. At least the words sounded offensive to Ron.

"Shut up, Luna. What the hell is wrong with you?" He snapped, standing from his place at the table to glare at Luna. She was drenched from head to toe but looked pleased with herself, unlike Harry and Dean who looked positively irritated as they shed their wet jackets and kicked their shoes to the corner of the room.

"It's alright, Ron," Hermione murmured, hands tucking her hair back behind her ears. She raised her eyebrows at him and motioned for him to sit back down next to her, which he did grudgingly while casting one last disapproving look towards Luna.

"Ron didn't like me saying that about you, Hermione. I'm sorry – did it hurt your feelings?" Luna asked, casting a wordless drying spell on her cloak and taking her place at the table.

Ron and Hermione both spoke at the same time then stopped to glance at each other, agreeing at the same time that perpetuating this conversation wouldn't be helpful. Hermione just shrugged at Luna and offered to pour her some pumpkin juice.

As everyone began helping themselves to the delicious trays of food Fleur brought out, Ron felt Hermione shift closer to him on the wooden bench. – enough that their thighs touched and he felt her ankle brush against his calf. He assumed it was to accommodate the large party around the crowded table as Mr. Ollivander joined, having made his first appearance downstairs since arriving yesterday.

Conversation flowed freely around the table, and Ron realized it was the first time the entire house had been together in the same room in over twenty-four hours. Bill was quite the supper host, which didn't surprise Ron one bit. His eldest brother had always been easy to talk with, and he engaged Griphook loads better than the others had managed.

Hermione let Ron fill both of their plates with slices of roast beef, mounds of mashed yams, and a generous scoop of roasted vegetables. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she cut and took small bites of cooked carrot, pausing every now and then to take sips of juice. She didn't touch the roast but did finish a thick slice of bread from the loaf that had been passed around the table. When everyone was engrossed in either eating their supper or listening to Bill and Fleur answer Luna's question about where they honeymooned, Ron noticed Hermione discreetly move some food off her plate and onto his.

"Hey! You need to – " Ron started but felt Hermione kick him gently under the table, shooting him a sharp look.

"Please, Ron – I'm so full. I don't want to overdo it or make Fleur think I don't appreciate her cooking," Hermione pleaded in a quiet voice. "Besides, I know you're eyeing for thirds," she joked. Ron feigned insult and stabbed a piece of meat with his fork.

When everyone had their fill of scrumptious food, the younger houseguests cleared the table and charmed the dishes to wash as the older adults retired to bed. It was then that Luna grabbed a book to read and the others began a series of fiercely completive rounds of Wizard's Chess.

Hermione had drifted from sitting by Luna near the fire reading to curl up again in the armchair she'd dozed off in earlier. Between moves Ron had glanced in her direction, glad that she was succumbing to sleep instead of trying to stay up and read or talk with Luna when what she really needed more than anything was rest.

"Ron, you're _brilliant_. I'd swear you cheated that last game if I hadn't been beaten by you so many times before this," Dean laughed, laying down on some cushions by the fire and preparing for bed. Harry chose to take the space near Dean and fluffed the pillows on the ground to make a mattress, having given up the spare bed in the room upstairs to Griphook to share with Mr. Ollivander and choosing to sleep instead with his friends downstairs. Luna was already sprawled out on her stomach on the sofa, legs in the air as she flipped through Fleur's latest edition of _Witch Weekly_.

Ron woke Hermione gently for the third time that day, though less intimately now that he had an audience. They bid their friends goodnight and headed upstairs. If this was any other situation and they had been in the Gryffindor common room, Dean and Harry would bust his balls if he openly went upstairs to sleep with a girl. But the recent events didn't lead anyone to jest – and Harry knew that this was the night Hermione was going to try sleeping without the dreamless sleep draught. Fleur had delicately brought it up at dinner when she thought only Hermione could hear her, but Harry and Ron had made eyes in mutual understanding that it was probably going to be a rough night for her.

Ron gave Hermione privacy to get ready for bed and she returned the favor, having already crawled into bed and facing the wall by the time he returned in his pajamas.

Before joining her, Ron waged a war inside his head. _Pull over the chair, you slick git. Just today you both decided to act normal for Harry. Wait it out until things like torturing teenagers isn't permitted and you can stop living in hiding. She's exhausted – she'll probably sleep just fine tonight. But the nightmares – she had nightmares about her parents, remember? You're barmy if you think she isn't going to relive some of what she went through at the Malfoy's. God, just get in the fucking bed. She left space for you._

Ron turned off the lamp with the deluminator on the bedside table and crawled in behind Hermione, careful to leave a sizeable gap between the two of them. The bed creaked loudly and Ron internally swore, thinking Hermione may already be asleep.

 _Blimey,_ was he wrong. Without missing a beat, she twisted around and cuddled up next to him. He tensed and let her adjust against his body, getting comfortable as he laid flat on his back. Her pajama-clad leg curled up over his right leg and her head rested on the pillow they shared, nestling her face in the crook in his neck. Her breath tickled him but he didn't dare move, loving the feeling of her lips so close to him. When she seemed settled, Ron boldly pulled the blanket up over the both of them and clasped her right hand with his underneath, resting them atop his chest.

"I'll be right here, Hermione – wake me up if you can't sleep, alright?" Ron whispered, relishing in the warmth of her body pressed up against his so willingly. He felt her nod slightly and smelled the delightful scent of her toothpaste. Ron closed his eyes and began to relax when he suddenly felt her warm lips press against his neck, then her nose softly nuzzle over where she'd kissed him.

"Goodnight, Ron," she murmured before squeezing his hand one last time.

 _Ack! Ok, so it's going to be at least another chapter more. I can't help it – this story is so hard to wrap up because I just love the possibilities of these two! Let me know what you think._


	7. Chapter 7

He woke up to her screaming.

Initially Ron thought he was dreaming, having some kind of dreadful nightmare as the room came into focus. He realized, rather quickly, that he couldn't remember what exactly he had been dreaming about, like trying to catch a cloud of smoke. He'd been so exhausted earlier that he fell asleep in seconds, despite the fact that his teenage fantasy of Hermione wrapped up in his arms had come true. Waking to her shriek was disorienting.

"Ouch!" Ron muttered, absorbing a sharp kick from Hermione's thrashing body. His shin pulsed with the pain of the impact and he quickly moved his legs far away from her body. It felt like getting hit with a bludger.

The next sound that tumbled from her mouth sounded more like a terrified cry than a scream. Her arms were by her side but muscles tense, her chest heaving.

"Hermione! Shhh, it's ok!" Ron hovered over her, propped up on one elbow. Reaching over to grasp her writhing arm to try and still her body, he knew it was a risky move. This could scare her even more, but he wasn't sure how else to rouse her from her sleep. Thankfully her legs were still covered by the sheet, because another bout of kicking came. Ron began calling her name over and over again, his voice rising in desperation as Hermione's head tossed from side to side and the cries continued.

"Shhh, shhh, I'm right here. Wake up, Hermione," Ron begged, feeling totally lost. He twisted on the bed, sitting up slightly so that he could get a better grip on her upper arms. Not wanting to scare her he quickly abandoned the idea of sitting atop her legs to still the thrashing. It was beginning to sound like she was having trouble breathing, gasping deeply with a sort of wheezing sound that made Ron's blood run cold.

"Dammit, Hermione…WAKE UP!" He bellowed, heart racing. He nearly cried with relief when her eyes opened suddenly; however, it appeared that her dark orbs remained unfocused. She tried to sit up, causing Ron to tentatively release his strong hold on her arms and he backed several few inches on the bed, sensing the need to give her enough space to recognize her surroundings.

He took in Hermione's disheveled form – red face, hollow eyes, tousled hair, and left shoulder exposed on one side from where her shirt had shifted from the episode. Even in the dark, he could make out the delicate curve of her cheekbones, her lovely long eyelashes, her perfect nose. She was so beautiful it made his heart ache. He wanted to run his lips over every part of her face and assure them both that she was all right, but paralyzing worry that he might distress her more kept him frozen in his seated position next to her on the bed.

Hermione's breathing leveled out and she wet her lips, hands reaching up to rub her tired eyes. She shifted and paused, suddenly turning toward Ron and reaching for his hand from her seated position on the bed next to him.

"Hi there," she whispered, a subtle smirk forming in the corner of her mouth. "I rather like waking up and seeing you right here." Normally Ron adored that grin, one that often made an appearance when he amused her. The first time he remembered seeing her smile like that was in third year, when he'd asked her to help him with his Astronomy homework. He still recalled how nice she looked in her gray uniform cardigan, the fire in the common room casting an orange glow all around as she smirked and scooted closer to him on the couch. And this blatant flirting – normally he'd treasure this kind of remark from Hermione and play it over and over again in his head like an old record, but he couldn't shake the worrisome confusion that fogged his brain right now.

Hermione's brow furrowed when she took in his anxious expression, the smile slipping off her face. "What is it, Ron? What's wrong?"

"Hermione…" Ron's voice was thick with emotion. He was at a loss for words, shocked that she seemed so unperturbed, so different from moments ago. Sucking in a breath, he accepted her soft hand in his and squeezed it before blinking back up at her. "You were like…kicking and yelling in your sleep. I couldn't seem to shake you out of it," Ron rambled, hoping he wasn't revealing something upsetting she didn't need to know.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand back. "I honestly can't remember exactly what I was dreaming about, though it's easy to imagine what it might have been. My mind still hasn't really processed the last two days much, but my body isn't letting me forget. It's all quite strange."

Ron stared back at her sadly, wishing he knew what to say. He wracked his brain for proper words – something, _anything_ comforting, wise, or reassuring. The space between them felt heavy in the darkness of the room compounded by silence. When words failed, he reached for her and pulled her body towards him, long arms circling under her arms. She easily melted against him.

Hermione. He delighted in sweet smell of her, the lightness of her body, the gentle pressure of her head pressing against his chest. His large hands continuously rubbed big circles onto her back and she cuddled closer, sighing as she scooted closer into his seated embrace. _Enjoy this. Who knows when you'll get to have her this close again. Merlin, she's so soft._

Ron's left leg began to tingle uncomfortably with a prickling numbness, but he didn't dare move just yet. It was too perfect, holding Hermione like this. It felt very different from the other times he'd had her in his arms – trying to care for or protect her while she was hurt, or sick, or scared. No, this felt more like he was holding her for himself, for the sheer joy of it. It felt brilliant.

Hermione's hands were resting against his nightshirt near the top of his hips. She shifted a bit and Ron wondered if she was uncomfortable, about to suggest that they lie back down when she did something that positively stunned him. Without so much as a word, she lifted both legs to rest with knees bent on either side of Ron, practically sitting in his lap with him tucked in-between. They hadn't made contact with their fronts, but mere inches separated them.

 _Shit, Hermione._ All of the blood in Ron's body heated as he considered their new position on the bed. His arms were still holding her to him, but there was a fiery intimacy that Ron couldn't ignore right now even if he mustered all the self-control in the world. This was closer than they'd ever been before. He didn't know how to move, what to do with any part of his body.

Seeming to sense Ron's apprehension, Hermione eased back and looked straight into his face. "Too much?" She whispered softly.

He searched her eyes deeply, unsure of what he was looking for. Assurance? Confidence? Fear? Ron wanted so badly to get as close to her as possible, but was hesitant to do anything that might remotely seem like he was pushing her. He knew his tendency to let instincts outweigh what he knew was rational – likely why he would row so often with his siblings and friends – and he wanted to be cautious with Hermione. Hurting her again was too high a cost to act on impulses.

"I'm just thinking," Ron began, hoping she could sense his sincerity, "what we mentioned outside…about waiting. I just want to be careful with you, love." The last word slipped so easily from his lips it almost made him laugh. It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw her eyes soften. Hermione brought her head closer and closer before resting her forehead against his gently.

"I know. And I really appreciate that, Ron," she paused, taking a shaky breath. "I suppose I just also want to take advantage of the time we have together here. Alone."

Ron gulped. She must have heard him, because she continued. "Of course, once we go back out again we'll need to be there with Harry until the very end. But even just right now, it doesn't feel like it's worth worrying about. Maybe even this next day, if that's all we have. I want to be _here_ with you, Ron, and take pleasure in it before it slips away and we have to leave. It's all so very confusing, isn't it?"

Ron looked hard at her, not knowing how to respond. She was so pretty, and her face was _right_ there, centimeters from his. He noticed that she had an indent on her lip from where she'd bitten it with her front teeth. Ron couldn't help but swallow thickly again.

"I'm certainly not helping…" Hermione muttered, making to bring her legs back.

Reflexively, Ron's arms reached down to keep her legs still. With that one movement, the entire room seemed to heat up. A curious expression came across Hermione's face and she relaxed again. Her head angled to the left and she rested her mouth right next to Ron's ear, pressing them cheek to cheek. "I like having you close to me."

Ron's heart thumped at her words, igniting a fiercely pleasant response in him that he'd never quite felt before. His hands moved from the sides of her knees to her back. Hermione inched forward on the bed, closer to his chest as her chin dropped down to rest against his left shoulder. Ron slowly moved his hands lower and lower down her petite back until he found the line where her soft shirt met her pajama pants, and he dared to slip his fingers up until he felt her warm skin.

Hermione hissed and he nearly jumped out of her arms, frightened that he'd already pushed past an unspoken boundary and fucked things up within seconds. He felt her legs tighten around his hips as her knees pressed in, keeping him in place. "Sorry Ron, your hands were just colder than I expected. You can…you can keep going," Hermione murmured, hands bunching in the fabric at his sides.

Once again, Ron willed his hands to slip back onto her delicious skin. He felt goose bumps rise and he rubbed over them repeatedly in an effort to warm her up. It wasn't long before his hands seemed to take on a life of their own, tracing deep circles as he stroked her back. Her skin felt so soft against his rough fingertips.

Hermione sighed contentedly, relaxing her body even more against his solid form as she allowed him to continue the ministrations on her back. Ron began pressing a bit harder into her skin when he discovered she seemed to enjoy it, evidenced by the barely audible moan of pleasure she made when he increased the pressure of his fingers. As he reached higher up her back, he carefully pressed into her muscles, working out knots as best as he could from the angle his arms were at. She groaned when he found a particularly bad one, taking several moments to slide his fingers back and forth over the lump near her shoulder blade.

"Mmm, Ron. That feels so good," Hermione whispered hoarsely, slackening her hold against him. His actions had caused her body to press into his chest, and he was suddenly very much aware of her thinly covered upper body.

Thankfully, her center was still far enough from his that he doubted she knew what this was doing to him. Even in the dark, if Hermione looked down she'd be able to see the tent growing in his pants. He counted his lucky stars that she seemed blissfully unaware, groaning lightly when he found a particularly tight spot but otherwise thoroughly enjoying the massage on her back.

In a moment of boldness, Ron moved one hand up to lightly rub the back of her slender neck, his thumb and forefingers grinding into the tight muscles as his other hand snaked around her waist to support her against him. Responsively, Hermione released a loud moan and turned her face into Ron's neck from her place against his shoulder.

The sound made Ron want to positively ravish her. He'd never heard the kind of noise come from Hermione, and to know it was him causing this reaction fueled the fire kindled by her previous forwardness.

"Ron," she breathed, "this is heavenly." She straightened up in his arms and shifted closer to him and they suddenly both gasped. Despite layers of clothing, Ron knew she couldn't ignore his obvious need that was now pressed fully against her crotch. Heat was positively radiating from their contact down there. Seconds ticked by and neither said anything.

 _You barmy idiot! Move, dammit! This is too much. God, I want to shag her brains out right now. Or at least get a good snogging. Merlin, it's warm in here._

Ron could still feel Hermione's face against his neck, and he involuntarily shuddered when he felt her press a warm, wet kiss on his skin. Her hands snaked up to his shoulders and she raised her head to look at him.

"'Mione…" Ron licked his lips as she gazed at him, "I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Just tell me what to do." His blue eyes seared hers, begging for direction. He didn't want to lose control. He needed her guidance.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and slid her hands down to his elbows. "I want to forget. I want my body to feel different than…than weary and sore from the curse. But I don't want to go too far." Ron gulped and moved one hand to hers, taking it and kissing her knuckles before squeezing it tightly.

"I, erm…need you to be a little more specific," Ron murmured, not sure how else to tell her that wasn't enough. He'd gone plenty far with Lavender with roaming hands and intense snogging sessions, but that meant different things to different people. Even his brothers would categorize "far" as various levels – for Percy, a peck on the lips with Penelope during prefect rounds and for Charlie it might be a one night stand with a muggle university student.

Hermione suddenly looked embarrassed. The confidence with which she initiated this contact seemed to melt away as she broke her gaze and began to pull back. It dawned on Ron that this situation was probably humiliating for her – she knew he had plenty more experience in this realm than she did. The realization made Ron want to slap himself.

He wasted no time in taking her lovely face in his hands, smoothing his thumb over her chin. "You are so beautiful, Hermione." Leaning forward, Ron again summoned his Gryffindor courage to press his lips softly against hers.

In an instant, the heat between their bodies intensified tenfold. Hermione's eyes closed and she pressed back against his mouth with her lips, her hands moving to his shoulders to anchor herself. Ron deepened the kiss with fervor and she opened her lips gladly, receiving his eager tongue.

 _Damn. This is bloody amazing. Waited way too long for this._

Hermione's mouth tasted like honey and mint – the most delightful combination. Her fingers gripped his shoulders tightly as they broke after a moment to breathe, foreheads bumping lightly as they took in air. Ron felt dizzy with lust and adoration and the rush of charting this new territory with Hermione. He was surprised this didn't feel more weird to him. The second time their lips met in a searing kiss, it felt like it'd been the hundredth. She felt like home.

When they broke once again, Ron gently pushed Hermione down so that she lay back on the bed. She looked at him curiously, almost nervously. Ron was overcome with reverence for her. He wanted to touch every part of her. She was perfect. He lowered down next to her and kissed her quickly on the lips before leaning back on his elbow, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. The smile she shot him was positively adorable.

"Ron. I trust you," Hermione said confidently, reaching her fingers to trace his lips. The feeling of her delicate touch against his burning lips was almost too much. Ron sighed deeply as he deliberated what to do with the girl of his dreams before him.

 _Keep both of your clothes on. You're safe if you do that. Yes, clothes on and keep her lying down. She still needs sleep. Who knows if this is the last night you'll all be here? Don't hurt her. Make her feel good but be gentle, you git. Tell her how pretty she is._

"I'll be gentle, darling. Just close your eyes." Ron surprised himself with the words that flowed from his mouth. He sounded like some kind of bloody expert.

 _Ha! Far from it. Lavender taught you most of what you know. Shite, don't think about that right now._

Hermione obediently closed her eyes and shifted against the sheets, lying flat on her back. Her face was flushed, but in a glorious way – nothing like how her face would redden with irritation or turn splotchy when she cried. No, this was very different. Ron saw her chest heave lightly, illuminated by the pale moonlight shining in through the cottage window. Ron glanced at Hermione's watch on the bedside table – quarter past three. As wide awake as he felt right now, he knew they should get some sleep soon.

Ron turned to his side facing Hermione and peppered feather-light kisses along her temple, cheek, and jaw. She remained perfectly still – so much so that Ron felt the need to whisper right in her ear, "Relax, love. It's alright." He ended his series of kisses on her nose, accidently bumping his own against hers.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him before fluttering her lashes shut once more. Ron took this as his cue to move south, and he very carefully nuzzled his lips along her collarbone. He thought he could make out Hermione's heartbeat but also wondered if it was his, since his own blood seemed to be roaring about in his ears.

Open-mouthed kisses reached the fabric of Hermione's shirt, and suddenly Ron felt the swell of her breasts beneath his lips. He dampened her shirt as he moved closer to the target closest him on the right, daring to bite lightly over the covered hardened nipple. Hermione groaned and arched up from the bed, whispering his name and running her hand through his hair. The feeling made Ron want to cry out as well, but he continued exploring what was in front of him. He lavished the same attention on her other breast before rising up to stroke her hips.

He glanced up at Hermione, who seemed to be breathing quite heavily. Her hands were grasping the blankets around them and her eyes were still shut. Ron leaned down and gave her a teasing kiss – deep and intense, but frustratingly brief. He remembered the twins telling him girls went barking when left wanting more. Pretending to be disgusted at the time, Ron stored that information away and was glad to see Hermione seemed to take pleasure in it.

He kept his lips very near her ear and his deep voice surprised him. "Hermione, stop me at any time. We don't have to do anything-"

"Keep going. M'alright," came her throaty reply.

Ron shifted so that he sat lower down on the bed, focusing now on her slender hips. Lack of food had caused her pelvic bones to protrude more noticeably than last year, to Ron's alarm. He hated to even think of how often he complained about food and blamed Hermione for unpreparedness when he knew she went without so the boys could have more. How selfish the desperation compounded with that damn locket had made him.

His hands smoothed over her thighs, causing Hermione to writhe slowly. He squeezed, taking pleasure in the feel of her soft pajamas against his hands. Slowly, Ron moved his thumbs inward and rubbed from her knees to her hips, avoiding the one area that was begging to be touched.

"Ron," Hermione moaned, leading Ron to think she wanted him to delve in further. He hooked his thumbs at the apex of her thighs, pulling her legs apart slightly. A rush of heat met his hands and he nearly had to roll over and take care of the raging hard-on he felt between his own legs. Taking his left hand, he gingerly raised two fingers to her center and rubbed – eliciting a very loud whimper from Hermione. Taking this as an encouraging sign, Ron rubbed harder over her pajamas. It wasn't long before he felt the dampness leaking through.

"Hermione…gods, you're perfect," Ron whispered. He peeled his eyes from her hips and took in her face. Her mouth was slightly open and eyes clamped shut, face contorted in sweet pleasure. Just to see her reaction, he switched up the direction of how he'd been stroking her and pressed a bit harder, delighting in the mewing sounds she made. When he slowed back to the original pace, she began panting and writhing a bit more, her bum shifting against the sheets. He'd never seen her so undone.

"Ron…"

"Yes, love? You alright?"

"Mmm. Kiss me."

He didn't need to be asked twice as he covered of her mouth with his possessively. Their tongues battled as Ron kept his hand against her mound, knowing she was probably close to some kind of release.

In a bold move, Ron pused his ministrations and lifted his hand a few inches before bringing it back down hard, lightly spanking her in her most sensitive area and then rubbing over the sting. Instantly he was terrified that he'd gone too far and that she'd turn to smack him, but her reaction was quite the opposite.

He felt her tongue swirl in his mouth before yelping, swinging one leg over his hip and melding as close to him as she could get. He felt her shudder against him delightfully. Their clothed hips ground together as they continued snogging, both moaning at the friction their joined bodies were causing.

It was Hermione who pulled away after a few moments, breathing heavily. "I think that's enough for now." Ron nodded and rolled her back to her position flat on the bed, gently pulling her leg from his. He reached down and pulled the covers up over them both, but Hermione asked to borrow Pettigrew's hand from the nightstand. Confused, he tentatively handed it to her and heard her mutter a quick cleaning incantation, pointing it at her abdomen. He could tell her face was hot as she handed it back to him, realizing that she needed to remove the wetness that'd built up.

Ron to licked his lips, wondering how in the world he had gotten so lucky. After tucking the wand back, he again pulled the blankets up over him and Hermione and pulled her close to him. This time it was a gentle, innocent embrace. Only his arm held her near, underneath her head on the shared pillow as she turned her body towards him on her side. She kissed his cheek and they both closed their eyes, too tired to speak.

The morning would come too soon. For now, Ron committed this feeling to memory as he dozed off, neither him nor the slumbering girl next to him having to worry about dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Last chapter! Thank you for all of the kind reviews, follows, and favorites. I hope this story wraps up nicely enough. I'm planning on writing a new story about the final battle next week – more missing snippets I so wish were in the books._**

 _ **Anyway, hope you enjoy this last chapter! Xx Violent.**_

"No. No _bleeding_ _way_ are you going to be the one doing that!" Ron spat, aghast that Harry and seemed so nonchalant about the notion of Hermione masquerading as the appalling woman who was the cause of her nightmares the past two weeks.

The trio had to fight for time and space to secretly plot, which was near impossible within the confines of Shell Cottage. Even Ron, who loved lazing about with three guaranteed square meals a day had to admit he was getting antsy. It certainly was no holiday at the sea. Griphook was beginning to get on everyone's nerves, and the others were just always _there._ Even now they had holed away up in the room Ron and Hermione had been staying in, casting silencing spells around the room so that they could talk in private about their plan. Hermione and Harry sat on the bed while Ron paced in front of them, hands running through his hair.

Fleur was either completely oblivious that Ron and Hermione shared a bed every night or chose to ignore it. Ron even wondered if Bill had spoken with her about it. One day his older brother had pulled him aside and remarked at how attentive Ron had been with Hermione, among other things that he'd noticed; Bill had felt the need to share how proud he was of him and seeing the kind of man his brother was growing up to be. Ron had ended that conversation quickly, feeling uncomfortable for being praised that he was caring for the girl he loved. " _Anyone would do it…"_ he'd muttered, trying to keep his feelings discrete. He knew Bill knew better.

Hermione mostly slept through the night, but still suffered troubling dreams. Despite how much he hated that she relived what had happened at the Malfoy's, Ron tried his best not to wake her. She needed sleep, and if he could hold her just right and whisper assurances in her ear, sometimes she seemed to relax without him having to rouse her. He prayed that the more time went on, the less vivid her dreams would be until the whole ordeal was just a sour memory. Still, they both had been jolted awake the night before when Hermione had a particularly upsetting nightmare. Ron had held her tightly, hating the feeling of her entire body crumbling into sobs when she realized it had just been a dream.

And now she was considering waltzing straight into Gringotts to impersonate the witch. Ron nearly punched the wall with frustration at how involved Hermione wanted to be in all of this. He went into survival mode for the both of them.

"But Hermione – do you realize how _dangerous_ this is? They run the wizarding _world_ right now! Everyone knows us, and who knows how much they're offering these days for the damn Golden Trio. Anyone would turn us in if they thought they'd get something out of it!" Ron roared, furious that he was even having to remind her of this. There was a pause where no one spoke and Harry and Hermione stared at him with concern, so Ron took advantage and continued his tirade.

"You're still sore from her cursing you – imagine what she'll do if she finds you this time!" Ron erupted, drowning out whatever Harry was now trying to say to him. Usually Harry would fight harder, but it was clear that this was an issue between Ron and Hermione. All three knew that Harry cared for Hermione, but this wasn't something he could convince Ron to be alright with. His eyes zeroed in on Hermione, who looked irritatingly serene about the whole thing. She crossed and uncrossed her legs before opening her mouth.

"Ron, it's the only reasonable next ste-"

"REASONABLE? Are you fucking kidding me? Merlin, Hermione, for someone so smart..." Ron shook his head.

"I know it's risky, but it honestly might be-"

"Risky? You're bloody well right it is!"

"If you just listen to how we go about-"

"Rubbish! I refuse to-"

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME!" Hermione screeched as she shot up from the bed, face red with frustration and fists clenched. She met Ron's gaze with fire in her eyes. "If you could just…just _listen_ for five minutes you'll see that it's so crazy it might work. We've just got to do something." There was an edge in Hermione's voice, a determination Ron hadn't heard in some time.

Ron went the next fifteen minutes standing by the small window, staring out the bright stretch of beach without uttering a word. He was so livid he resolved to stay silent, knowing that he was narrowly teetering between rage and hysterics. Another part of him wanted to keep pressing the issue, to point out gaping holes in the plan, to keep arguing, because the longer he let his friends plot the more hard-pressed they'd be to keep this outrageous plan. Another part of him wanted to punch Harry in the face for agreeing to this dodgy plan that was putting all of them - most especially Hermione - in such a vulnerable position. He'd had enough polyjuice potion to last a lifetime, not to mention enough fraternizing with dark witches and wizards. Sure, he could sign back on to apparate around the country and stab a few Horcruxes, but this was too much.

Harry and Hermione had pulled their heads together again, discussing Griphook's role, how the others would be disguised, and when to leave. Ron listened but didn't speak. It wasn't until he heard the creak of Hermione rising from the bed to walk towards him that he turned his head stiffly back towards his friends. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry walk out the door and close it behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

"Ron," she said gently, brown eyes softer than before when she'd shouted at him, "I'm sorry this scares you. I'm certain I'd feel the same way if it were you, or even Harry. But it makes the most sense that it's me…I'm able to think on my feet a bit faster than you both," she paused as Ron rolled his eyes but allowed her to unfold his arms to take his hands, "and I promise I'll be fine."

"You can't promise that."

Hermione didn't answer, but squeezed his hands and took a step closer to him. Ron sighed deeply, forcing down all of the things he wanted to say to convince her not to come along. Deep down he knew it was useless – no one would tell Hermione what to do, and leaving her behind might be worse than having her there next to him. She was brilliant – they needed her.

"I don't like it one bit," Ron croaked, surprised at the emotion he felt welling up inside him. "It's so reckless, Hermione. Fuck! So many things can go wrong. I can't let what happened..." his voice choked off as a wave of anxiety rolled over him. She looked so vivacious before him now, but that was after weeks of healthy meals and sleep in a real bed and warm baths. After healing. He still remembered the state she was in when they hit the beach after narrowly escaping, unconscious and bloody. She'd barely been able to walk and retched for days afterward. He would never forget what she'd been reduced to in those days, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"I couldn't forgive myself, Hermione. If something happened to you again, if the polyjuice wore off before we were safe or we got found out. Or if we get separated and aren't as lucky as the last time." Ron's heart twisted at the thought. "Merlin, I can't lose you," he admitted, dropping his head in shame.

 _It's true. You know if something happened to her, you wouldn't be able to stay in this fight. You'd go mad or grow cold. Grow a hairy heart like the warlock in Beedle the Bard's tale. And there's no way we could do this without her, especially now that Dumbledore's gone._

A few seconds passed before Hermione coiled her arms around Ron's waist and rose to her tiptoes. Bright brown eyes burned into his and he noticed the moisture welling up, though no tears fell. She leaned in and kissed his nose gently.

"I love you, Ron," she whispered. "We're going to be okay. I need you to trust me on this one."

Ron pulled her towards him tightly, arms locking her securely in place against him. She was warm, and smelled like the lavender laundry detergent Fleur kept in the house. Her hair was clipped back halfway with a simple bronze hairpin, one he'd seen her wear before at school. It made him smile this morning as he watched her get ready, clip pinched between her teeth as she combed her hair back in front of the mirror above the dresser.

They had shared more and more intimate moments, though they'd been more careful since the night he'd brought her to climax. Ron knew this wasn't the time – war was miserable on its own but having to refrain from pursuing her further caused him to hate it even more. Even still, Ron relished the mornings and evenings when he had Hermione tucked into his arm and the little smiles she gave him when they set the table together or played chess at night when the others were busy talking. A few times she'd even let him rest his hand on her leg at mealtimes, lightly stroking his thumb over her knobby knee.

Ron wondered what this school year would have been like for their relationship if Hogwarts (or the whole bloody wizarding world) was stable. Would he be able to sit by her like that in the Great Hall over breakfast? Would Seamus tease him mercilessly like he did when he was with Lavender? Would they hold hands at Hogsmeade? His heart swelled at the thought. Oh, to be a normal seventh year. To see Gin and Harry happy.

 _Harry. Harry needs you_ and _her. He can't do this alone, and he can't do it properly if we aren't all united and focused. Merlin, this has to happen._

"I trust you." Ron's simple words caused Hermione to pull back – no easy feat as Ron had her clasped tightly to his chest. She was positively beaming at him, the smile lighting up her whole face. He burned with adoration at seeing her so jubilant.

"Ron, when this whole thing is over…remind me to show you how glad it makes me hearing those words," she practically growled, her face reddening at the suggestive remark.

Deciding to push his luck (and also loving the unexpected reaction) he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Darling, I trust you. So much."

Ron sucked in a breath as he felt her hands swiftly move under his shirt at his back. Her fingernails lightly ran up and down, caressing his skin. Her own arched as she leaned forward to plant successive wet kisses along his jaw, ending at the corner of his mouth.

"You like that, do you?" He smirked, still enamored.

Hermione at last covered his mouth with hers and snaked her tongue along his lip, groaning when he granted her access. It was a deep and passionate kiss, leaving them both breathless when Ron was forced to break to take in air. Hermione didn't stop kissing him, but had moved to his neck. He loved the tickle of her soft lips and slight hint of her tongue brushing against his skin.

The light rapping on the door caused Hermione to fly back in surprise, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Ron felt extremely cheeky at the pleasure he got from seeing her swollen lips and deep blush. Annoyed at the interruption, he brusquely called whoever was at the door to enter.

"It's me," came Harry's voice as the door creaked open, "Griphook's here too." The four of them set to work planning for the Gringotts invasion with new vigor. Harry didn't act surprised at Ron's new disposition, as he added his own commentary as to how to best go about breaking in. They collaborated animatedly for so long that the sun set on them and soon they were being called down to eat.

A while later, after dinner and a thrilling game of exploding snap, Ron and Hermione went up to bed. After brushing their teeth and changing into pajamas, they fell into bed together as they'd now become accustomed to doing. It felt so natural that Ron only just now realized that this might all change again when they were back to just being with Harry. Crestfallen, he tried not to dwell on that.

As he pulled Hermione against him, he relished in the sublime feeling of her back pressed up against his front as they burrowed into the covers. He actually really enjoyed having conversations with her this way. Hermione seemed to enjoy it as well, snuggling deep into his chest and holding onto his arms.

They lay for a few minutes before Ron spoke softly into her ear. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet. What are you thinking about?" Hermione just shrugged and tightened her hold on his arms. "What is it, pretty girl? You can tell me."

Hermione sighed, turned her head slightly so Ron could hear her properly. "I suppose I'm just thinking about how glad I am that you're going along with this plan. That we're not rowing or angry at one another. I'm glad…that you trust me." She whispered the last few words and Ron smiled, kissing the back of her neck and closing his eyes.

"I do, love. I do. We're going to be alright, Hermione."

They fell asleep to the sounds of the roaring tide and whistling wind, feeling braver and happier than either had in a long time.

 _Fin_


End file.
